


TRNDSTTR

by habitualsarcasm



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: (yo starscream is hot ok), I Don't Even Know, Is this an AU?, M/M, Pre-Series, Rivalry, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Walk Of Shame, but also for himself, chain of command, clueless starscream, it's more than meets the eye~, soundwave The Little Shit, soundwave doin it for the cons, soundwave has The Best Idea, stalkerish, staring caring and repairing, starscream is the only one capable of inadvertently creating this drama, subtly a songfic, the otp strikes again, watch out megatron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habitualsarcasm/pseuds/habitualsarcasm
Summary: The hierarchy needs to change. Soundwave sees a trend and decides to set his own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i think i have like 57000 TFP OTP AU headcanons wow that's a mess of acronyms  
> here's real short variation #33,572 of "soundwave and starscream _bELonG_ "  
> classical literature and crippling self-doubt are simultaneously kicking my ass halfway to pluto  
> check TRNDSTTR (Lucian Remix) by Black Coast, if you want musical accompaniment

Chain of command?

Power rarely equates to presentation, or so he's learned from millennia of war. Chain of command has never mattered, not in what he _should_ hear or see, or which plan they _should_ follow. It's a portrait that gives the Decepticons advantage, especially in the face of Autobots with less infrastructure, built to intimidate. But the mecha involved know the truth. At least, Soundwave assumes they each do. Starscream, well, that's always been debatable.

Megatron is the authority figure, an effortless part. Smooth as polished copper and thin as paper.

This group of drones--not drones because they're incapable of higher processing, but that they were mass-generated--are hopeless when they're unsupervised. The medic who may or may not be in the med bay, depending on which underground human racing ring is close-by, is blase towards Decepticon ideals. The bruiser never knows who to follow, and though he's likely to keep his loyalties in check, he is also aggressive. The shifter--changing his mind fast as he changes alt modes--needs direction to function or boredom sends his alliance wavering.

Megatron is the adhesive in this large-scale equation; but their lord is not stupid and realizes it could work without him.

Decepticons are conniving, resourceful. They'd find something to solder the ranks with. After all, Megatron gave them the motivation, not the methods: those belong to the second, are Starscream's problem to solve. Fresh into their ranks, Starscream used to be the apex, that pinnacle of strategy and glory that troops murmured about. Now he's less admired--anyone who listens to the Eradicons knows their opinion of their commander. Perhaps the seeker becomes less attractive because they've all learned his kind of flavour. (A vocaliser isn't quite as grating until it's there a few hundred vorns, cycle after cycle.)

Nevertheless, given the chance, Starscream is second pick next to Megatron. He may not effuse the same confident, menacing front, but it doesn't matter because Starscream attacks from behind.

The dynamic there is complicated. Too many vorns has Soundwave spent watching it unfold, first finding himself irritated by the intrusion on his work, then, abruptly, noting Starscream hasn't spoken in over a solar cycle, and finally standing idle in the wake of skidmarks on the command center's floor.

_"Stop recording,"_ Starscream would occasionally snap. Well, _sigh_ , he wasn't recording, he was _filming_. Starscream should learn to differentiate between audio and video someday.

_"Erase it from the databanks."_ Which ones? Megatron didn't specify, so Soundwave assumed he meant the mainframe, and the files on his private, encrypted drives remain intact, should he need to access them.

The stakes are high, too high, for Soundwave to ever turn a blind optic or a deaf audial. Not on command, nor of his own free will when the atmosphere bristles with tension, will he tune out valuable information. He doesn't collect it uselessly; he pores through it to decipher what's wrong, applies a reform or two where he sees fit and, as usual, makes the Decepticons function seamlessly again. Megatron's frame of mind, likewise Starscream's health--in its many facets--directly correlate with Decepticon success.

So the answer is no, when Megatron tells him not to listen in. The warlord is well aware that Soundwave doesn't bend: the spy volunteers for this cause because he believes in it. He is inferior to no one. Bowing and obeying is respect, not subservience, and Megatron knows the difference. If a plan is destined for failure, if their leader risks losses the troops cannot withstand, Soundwave is well within his boundaries to intervene.

It never comes to blows between them, as with Starscream and Megatron, because Soundwave doesn't care for Megatron's opinion. Because Soundwave has no need, or want, to fulfill Megatron's expectations, only the Decepticon agenda (admittedly, sometimes his own, but those instances are few and far between). Megatron won't challenge his unequivocal match in power and experience on board.

He instead shows likewise respect, allowing Soundwave control when necessary. Third-in-command does not seem such an illustrious title, but then again it hardly encompasses all the strings the spy can pull at any given moment, so _Chief Communications Officer_ he prefers to stay. He has been second, in the past. It is not his favourite holding.

Perhaps charade of command is more fitting.

Maybe, Soundwave muses, his interaction with Megatron is a little misconstrued. More often than not does Starscream take it as a game of favourites; this is good, all things considered, because the truth would certainly move the seeker's undermining efforts along.

Maybe, Soundwave supposes, Starscream would not be so bitter, had Megatron been cautious with him. The spy never thought much of tampering with Starscream's productivity. It was rather unwise on their leader's part to impress Starscream with notions of affection, and, when nothing more could be gleaned (in either benefits for the Decepticons or on a baser, physical note) to strip Starscream of that interest. The seeker used to reel when injury was added to insult, as if it shocked him. Now it's commonplace, and Starscream is much changed, if not bent the wrong way.

Soundwave has pity. Pity doesn't stop the word from going 'round, or the circulation of footage among higher ranks to support the spreading rumour. The spy needs that chaos in order to dissect and fix the damn situation. He cannot fix what isn't broken, and patient mech though he is, he expedites ( _not_ causes) the process of breaking Starscream.

Their leader should've known better, of course. Soundwave will let nothing hinder the cause, and a resentful, wounded Starscream is nothing except a hindrance. Moreover, constant eruptions of squalling, between their two most authoritative figures, do more to damage morale than a series of Autobot victories. The troops walk on fine wire; at times unsure of whether they fear Megatron or Starscream more, they make costly battle decisions, and the fallout is fierce. Megatron jeopardises the Decepticons, having tipped that ever-spinning balance of Starscream in the opposite direction. The hierarchy is an absolute mess, one Soundwave has no choice but to cautiously decode and put away.

Their armada needs a new system. Is he amiable to his idea? No definitive answer, yet, in spite of the stir throughout his chassis. His motivation is for the cause. Mostly.

Strategy is not his forte. But Soundwave can consult the vast repertoire of Starscream's battle-plans, examining the false leads, the double-tracking, the ambushes and counter-assaults, keen on constructing something nigh invincible. These tactics prove a vibrant reminder of what Starscream enjoys to create, what he accomplished in the Decepticon pursuit.

Soundwave can recall a time where Starscream had to be dragged from his projects, unwilling to take care of himself while they went unfinished. And it's a shame, but understandable, that they're lucky if he works a groon on something lately; why labor so extensively if sure work will simply be tossed aside in favour of the asinine?

No longer. Starscream can and will demonstrate his value to the cause, on his own, without being held beneath Megatron's heavy servo. The Decepticons need his contribution in these dire straits. Starscream needs guidance, perhaps assistance to get there. But not stricture.

_"Looking for something new,"_ Starscream's voice echoes, played back from aerial maneuver training.

\- - - - -

For convenience, Soundwave makes sure his quarters are moved to the same stretch of the Nemesis as Megatron's. The shift is forced by generator malfunctions around his normal, obscure sector. He spends his leisure time "working" on the problem, which Megatron is informed involves both hardwiring and connectivity. That is the good of having such a faithful reputation: the warlord is oblivious.

False lead. Because the dysfunction is the spy's own creation, he can resolve it whenever he pleases, which is not anytime soon.

Patience until the inevitable. The two will clash sooner or later, violently, in either of the contexts he can think of. For good measure, Soundwave taps Megatron's comm (tapping Starscream's is a risk he prefers not to take). Four solar cycles and there it is, the rendezvous, when the halls are more or less empty. The high-grade consumption they suggest means their recovery will be a while. Soundwave is nothing if not patient.

So it is no surprise, and he is waiting, ready, when Starscream exits their leader's quarters, minute stumbling in his steps. The spy doubts that high-grade alone tests the seeker's balance. Seekers are seldom inebriated. Starscream is careful, choosing a time where most mechs are likely to be in the deepest stages of recharge, to quietly slip out; but Soundwave is more careful in watching.

The spy opens his airlocked door and disrupts Starscream's typical, successful scenario. Ambush.

The seeker backpedals, same sour look he always greets his third-in-command with flashing across his features. Soundwave enters a command on the lock-panel, prompting the door to stay open, and places himself mid-corridor, helm tilted. Starscream narrows optics.

"What do _you_ want?"

Soundwave points to the available entry, which is a purposefully ambiguous move, leaving his aim up for debate. Stalemate. And Starscream, ever the intuitive, deduces he won't be leaving, no matter his reply. He is cornered in open space. Soundwave has a funny way of enforcing his will like that, without ever saying a word. The seeker huffs and darts in, field battering Soundwave's with annoyance.

"So?"

Soundwave locks the seal, pausing in gait and staring just long enough to indicate Starscream should follow, before stepping from the living space to the washrack. He keeps track of the pedes tapping the metal floor behind him. Starscream freezes there at the door, whirling in uncertainty like air after a lightning strike, silent while Soundwave turns the flow of cleanser on. The spy retracts his EMF calmly as the bludgeoning tide of _embarrassment_ lashes out through Starscream's.

"You honestly--"

But Soundwave is already moving past the seeker, summoning a recording: "--cleaned up, then work on repairs--"

Starscream has little chance to sputter; Soundwave scans the minor dents and scratches, brief and cursory in his assessment. There are two particularly deep marks towards the base of the seeker's wings, one leaking a small trail of energon, and that is all, besides the impression of a dent in Starscream's left arm. Damage equivalent to minutiae is ultimately helpful--no visit to the med bay will encroach on this opportunity. And it very well could have.

His basic repair kit will suffice, and though Starscream gawks at his form on his way to retrieve it, the rush of cleanser proves a greater draw than curiosity. Probably all the more enticing considering the dried stains on those lithe legs.

The spy leaves Starscream to it--that is to say, in person. His own quarters are not exempt from surveillance. The feed on his HUD serves to ensure the seeker is indeed using the washrack.

Starscream reaches for the pressure control and twists it higher, glancing at the entry as if shielding the sound matters. In fairness, he can't know the spy is watching, but he evidently has suspicions, if his investigation of the washrack setting is anything to go by. The seeker combs the walls, peers at the dispensal, optics worrying about the scene--as though a camera, if one is there (and it is), could record something harmful. Satisfied after a thorough examination, Starscream takes to furiously rinsing his frame. Peculiar, how those wings sink, held protectively close.

The seeker draws his arms to his chassis and stands, wings facing the spray. So much smaller than he carries himself, and a picture both endearing and disheartening.

Soundwave adjusts the view. In spite of how crisp the monitor reflects its image, that expression is a mystery, somewhere between melancholy and anger. The seeker's claws tap the dent in his arm and shy away from it, his optics bright and steely. But his posture screams despondency, which gives the spy leeway to act.

Starscream is still vulnerable--not unexpected in his present condition. The walk of shame is never dignified. Soundwave has seen too many of its variations on this mech alone to know that.

It is 6.8 kliks before the seeker does or says anything more, and Soundwave is exact about the length of time because he's counting. "You don't have a drying pad," Starscream mutters, flicking the remnants of cleanser from shining, slick wings in his emergence. Soundwave presents the repair kit in answer: easier for patching to bond to a damp surface than a dry, waxed one. (And the spy won't be convinced that wax is absent; no one is so ordinarily glossy, Starscream's healthy level of vanity notwithstanding.) The flier withdraws his EMF, reluctant to allow the spy any closer.

Soundwave finds it necessary to coax, beckoning that exhilaratingly responsive field forward with reassurance, comfort, relief. To which Starscream gravitates, letting Soundwave's thin digits smear nanite gel into his scrapes with precision. Those wings flinch away from the spy before realizing the gentle touch does more to help than hurt, splaying out for Soundwave to access the damage.

Maybe manipulating the things Starscream craves is shifty; ah, well, conscience is relative and Soundwave puts it aside for the sake of patching gashes. The seeker tries too hard to suffocate his field, dampen its range, but this close and Soundwave can practically _taste_ the need. Rarely is this frame so suffocatingly near, exposed, awarding precious receipt beneath his servos. His dermas shift beneath the visor in a moment of frustration--not now, not yet. Damn, but patience is a vexing thing to possess.

The spy takes out the heated convexity pad, applies it to the dent, stands back, and watches as Starscream looks anywhere except at him.

"If this is on _his_ behalf or his damn orders, forget it," the seeker growls. "I'm--"

He doesn't finish that sentence, but his thoughts have already finished it for him. _I'm not forgiving, I'm not forgetting, I'm not a toy. I'm done._ (Every time that coupling occurs, these are his sentiments. But the game has been changed this once.) Soundwave plucks at the edge of the pad; it hasn't finished its cycle yet.

"This consideration is rather sudden."

Soundwave follows the spread of those claws, shimmering, glistening wet in the light of his quarters, hovering above his digits.

"You, of all mechs, no-- _you_ don't do anything without reason. So tell me," Starscream says, so low it might be whispering, "why does it matter now?"

The words are cross, sore, not a little accusatory. Soundwave plays, in Starscream's voice: "Looking for something new."

The flier may read into that however he chooses; Soundwave lets him mull over it, easing the heat strip away and softly pressing the cold tip of a cryopen to the center of the dent. Any discomfort Starscream feels is momentary because his plating flexes back into shape, a soft _pop_ echoing in quiet quarters, contrasting the whirring of the seeker's vents. He is devoid of expression, but his field is unrepressed, mingling in and through Soundwave's. Starscream shares only an iota of gratitude. The rest is a hesitant, unexpected intimacy. So they stand, touching where Starscream's servo has dropped to cover his, chassis startingly close to contact, and the crest of the seeker's helm wisps against one of the spires on Soundwave's.

"Tsk, nothing new here," Starscream eventually murmurs. Soundwave takes his cue to pack up the repair kit, as Starscream retreats from the propinquity and moves to the door. The seeker pauses and turns to him, then slips from his quarters, leaving a pyroelectric kind of static in the air. It clings to Soundwave's frame, crackling and crawling; he draws in full intake cycles for three kliks, before he can think of the manner in which he will next catch Starscream.

\- - - - -

_"So work with isolation. Select never settles. Whichever sides we can flank should have fronts curving inward, until the target is surrounded. More importantly, they don't notice they're trapped."_

Soundwave finds time to think, amid grueling shifts and emergency response sessions, and holds Starscream's words in esteem. After all, strategy is the SIC's game. Starscream already keeps a social distance from most of the crew, already alienated on his own terms...but he might be able to isolate Starscream differently. Incentive ought to do the trick.

The spy starts with tentative friendliness, smooth brushes of his field when Starscream passes, and lends support where it's needed, to convince Megatron of the next plan's merit. He _is_ isolating--no one gets this treatment from him, not even Megatron, and Starscream knows. The seeker is too bright not to notice.

While at first the wariness resurfaces, Soundwave makes certain their first delicate interaction happens again, and again. The seeker endures more routine interaction with his liege. Soundwave's appearance, always just after, impartial and inclined to help, sets the scene. Before, Starscream would flit from his habits of licking wounds alone to blatantly ignoring them, but he presently has Soundwave to do it for him. Six separate occasions mark him creeping from Megatron's suite to Soundwave's, sometimes for the washrack, sometimes for the repair kit, and during the last, for the spy to knead the tenderness out of overwrought cabling. (Soundwave bites his glossa, processor repeating _not yet_ like a mantra.)

By the seventh after-hours meeting, Megatron is bypassed entirely, and though Soundwave doesn't for one nanoklik believe the datapad Starscream wants to share was recently discovered, he appreciates its content. Observant, isn't that mech.

Megatron--therein is a problem. He observes something odd going on, and he responds to it by covertly keeping his officers separate, heightening his watch on Soundwave, as though the mech might misstep under closer scrutiny, oh, sure. As if Soundwave has misstepped thus far. The spy will not challenge; he is above outright disobedience, which would draw Starscream's attention anyway. But he does the next best thing.

He flaunts in the smallest of ways, standing broader and taller, offering a listening audial to Starscream, and, having earned another gentle nudge of acknowledgement from the seeker, flaring his EMF. That gets Megatron's helm to turn. Where Soundwave knows there has never been a rule of exclusivity--that is to say, either of those two might technically occupy whichever berth they chose--Starscream has always had a certain off-limits atmosphere, an emblazoned mark that labels him as property.

Soundwave isn't challenging so much as he is staking a proper claim. Agonistic, but not quite rivalry.

Starscream never sees the signals he deliberately sends, an aggressively protective wider stance. The spy defines his ground, daring the warlord to trespass it, giving Starscream what Megatron hasn't, won't, can't. Soundwave relies on a dance of emotion and vulnerability to make his superiority clear. Ultimately it comes down to Starscream's choice, and being keenly aware of what the seeker is searching for. Because each time Starscream chooses _his_ breed of companionship over Megatron's, it means Soundwave is one step closer to _victory_.

The web is effective. Starscream's interest ventures into new avenues--a nonchalant flick of wings here, snicker or two there, sublimely flirtatious and coy. Their leader does not need to be jealous (thankfully expressing no such thing) for Soundwave's message to strike home; Megatron is not replaced, but succeeded, and succeeded by better.

_Watch me._

The spy's future intentions to upset the structure keep well-hidden, though he can't say as much for his connection to Starscream. Seekers have always been interestingly separate from normal mecha, and Starscream makes no secret of soaking up the attention, or bestowing it in return. Soundwave thinks the behaviour is exacerbated by two things--lack of other seekers and the sheer length of time Starscream has gone without this genre of interaction--and the spy admits it attractive in its own right. They exhibit the same cues, and where Soundwave is subtle, Starscream is immoderate.

Soundwave breaches new ground soon enough; with Megatron's departure into deep space looming imminent, he and Starscream complete extensive preparation at the command center. Stockpiling, drafting orders, expenditure management and the general ordeal become tiring after a joor or two, but the work must be done, especially if Megatron returns with more troops. Megatron nears, encroaching on the spy's background and peering at the console, perhaps checking progress--Starscream is having none of it.

The seeker cuts in, wings hiked high and taut in a blockade. Soundwave can feel the contest between commanders, fields held tersely just behind him; Starscream's frame creates a stark, decidedly physical boundary. "Soundwave, _do_ adjust this terminal. It's sending nonsense readouts to the mines," Starscream says. Soundwave obliges with speed, Megatron allows breathing space, and the seeker flexes his wings, mild distaste in his optics. Satisfied that his display of--what appears to be territorial aggression--is successful, Starscream resumes his work unperturbed.

\- - - - -

That is but the start, as Soundwave discerns. A sharp rap on his door after-shifts has his recharging protocols delayed, and prepared though he is to discharge several thousand volts at the following intrusion, his feelers prove unnecessary. Starscream glides in, wings narrowly avoiding the closing door; he taps claws to his palm, quietly assessing the spy.

"What do _you_ want?" Soundwave re-plays at an alternate pitch, which has Starscream curling dermas.

"Must you sample everything?" the seeker huffs, and then seems distracted by their respective positions, so Soundwave removes himself from his berth. "That's not what I--forget it. We ought to discuss some things."

"--you'll have to be more precise than that--" answers Soundwave, albeit through another recording, this time of Starscream scolding one of the Eradicons for a misfire.

"For one, stop responding with _my_ voice. It's disturbing. ...I came here about earlier, in the control room. There may be a misunderstanding."

Soundwave prints a question mark on his visor, assuming the punctuation is clear enough to be interpreted without playback.

"Listen, we--" Starscream exvents, coming within comfortable distance, "--seekers have particular customs. It's too complex to truly explain, coding and whatnot. Anyway, I should clarify what happened at the console. This, er, instance is isolated but it tends to stem from certain, frustrations, and..." he trails off into a blur of words; either direly needed recharge or something else, like those twitching claws, makes it impossible to concentrate.

Soundwave steps further into the seeker's personal space, height advantage more apparent now, but the last thing he aims to convey is dominance, and so his field bleeds heavy amusement into Starscream's. The seeker is unanticipatedly possessive, which is not unwelcome and rather incurs some arou--not yet, not _fragging_ yet. He stems the tide of sociocultural jargon with a barely-there brush of his frame to the seeker's; he wants his invitation concise.

"-- _yes_ \--" the spy ignores Starscream's demand not to use his voice. This time the sample is of dubious origin, in such a breathy tone as to imply Starscream's activity during its recording. And the seeker, instead of demonstrating repulsion, holds his pretty faceplates dangerously close, dermas parted.

"For frag's sake, I need you to _take it_ ," Starscream declares hotly, and laves a kiss on the mask's expanse.

Finally. Soundwave wastes nothing in snatching that long-awaited invitation, and in turn, Starscream protests nothing, squirming at the release of cables but nonetheless letting them fulfill their commands. One attaches through a thin panel of medical ports on Starscream's side, establishing connection between their neural nets, and the other plucks with delicate interest at the seeker's modesty panel.

Destroying barriers with these appendages is one thing, plunging through plating or walls. Different still is the feeling of datastreaming--transferring or downloading, mapping any device--a straight, one-way tide between the spy and a machine. But the sensory feedback from Starscream's port is incomparable. He wonders if he could overload from it. Probably.

A flurry of fluorescent cables and slender silver limbs leaves them tangled on the padded berth, by the seeker's initiative. Desperate, Starscream strains for another "kiss," and Soundwave nestles closer to receive it. His fingers dance between bundles of tiny, sensitive cords, adjoining Starscream's wings; he half-expects an anxious flinch, but Starscream's frame differentiates his digits from larger, triangular ones, and with a flutter the spanses are spread for him to play with.

Play he does. Strands of lubricant stick to the tips of his datacables, both shallowly pushing at the seeker's port until Starscream writhes, slick enough that a blunt end nearly slips in. Someone's been turned on for some time (Soundwave isn't sure he's referring to Starscream). Pinching wings has little effect, but the spy rubs circles along those thin ailerons and Starscream gives a small, venting moan.

The spy knows for a fact that Starscream is accustomed to, and occasionally prefers things rough, which is why he chooses the opposite: it stands to reason, from the frantic claws on his frame, that he chooses correctly. Nothing compares to watching ( _maybe_ recording, as he may need to access it) Starscream jerking hips into the tendrils of his feeler.

Soundwave indulges and now neither of them have their modesty panels in place. Starscream settles, his port agonizingly, rhythmically clenching, riding himself senseless on Soundwave. These quarters are not soundproofed, and surely the noise of Starscream's frame twisting sleek over his echoes into the corridor, or their EMFs extend as far--he suddenly doesn't give a damn. Not with calipers cinching around him and Starscream's breathless query of "try the datacable too, won't you?"

Soundwave loves knowledge. He learns, rapidly, that Starscream's overload capacity is ridiculously high. He figures out how to pull those hips so the seeker's internal nodes enjoy the way down, makes that port spasm in wild abandon. He discerns how to position that cable on the way back up, rubbing that sensitive anterior cluster Starscream seems partial to. And comparing what he's accomplished to his samples of video and audio feed (they are not voyeuristic, simply thorough), to make sure he outdoes any competition, Soundwave startles upon something intriguing.

All that keening, screaming noise is a performance. Starscream is deliciously quiet. He falls apart over Soundwave with muted gasps, pedes shaking and spinal strut curving back. The seeker's optics tell more than his vocalizer, hazy and dim with satisfaction. The overloads are perhaps Soundwave's favourite, a spectacular display of Starscream's field collapsing, pulsating, and dwindling back into the same needy heat.

Again and again does Starscream work himself to release-- _without_ help from high-grade--and on the third, it is the spy's turn to go with him, charged euphoria melting over them both.

Venting with difficulty, Starscream manages to prop himself up and peer at the spy. The seeker indulges in a lazy roll of hip struts, no doubt cataloguing the way Soundwave's grip changes, oversensitised; his wings are kept high, but mobile and at ease, fidgeting with small, pleasurable tremors. His leg joins its companion on one side of Soundwave, instead of straddling. He stretches out alongside the spy, toying the edge of a datacable with the tips of his claws.

"You don't mind company, do you?"

"Company~," Soundwave replies, pitch-edited, staggered, lyrical in tone.

Starscream's pede nudges between the spy's legs, knee joint extending until his thigh is comfortably trapped. He rests his helm on his own arm, still playing with oversensitive tendrils using his other servo. "Mm. We should make a habit of this," Starscream suggests. "Look at you, all tapped out. I don't think you could be uptight if you tried."

Soundwave's self-control is finely tuned, developed over millennia, yet he still chokes his laugh back with a vengeance before it can erupt. "--look who's talking--," he parrots, taken from a shots-fired spat Starscream had with the medic.

The seeker only hums, watching the tiny, biolight-lined feeler extensions coil, gently, around his digits. Recharge slowly initiates, and Soundwave considers this as a vastly better alternative to manually setting the cycles himself.

It's prior to the early haul of objectives and activities that the seeker heads for Soundwave's washrack, and though Starscream is caught between disbelief and irritation, the spy takes pride in the sight. Those gleaming legs might've seen stains in this same room; translucent trails of lubricant streak them now, almost covering them completely. Definitely superior.

\- - - - -

And so the answer is yes, they do make a habit of it. Starscream recharges in the usual hall, only now on the opposite side, cocooned without the anxiety of being discarded come morning. Sneaking out is unnecessary in Soundwave's opinion, and Starscream, inclined to parade this courtship rather than conceal it, finds nothing shameful in leaving _Soundwave's_ quarters for shifts, free of marks (most of the time). The seeker emerges clean, confident.

The day arrives for Megatron's voyage. The warlord's audience with Starscream is brief, crisp, worded as if carefully avoiding wrath--Soundwave listens and looks in through one of his sparsely placed spot-cameras, multitasking as he prepares the groundbridge. Then, he is summoned. The spy bows in acknowledgement and rises, holding his helm neither lowered nor lofty, to display the equal nature of the ground they stand on.

"Starscream will assume command during my leave," Megatron states. Soundwave nods, not bothering to inform Megatron that he already knows. The meeting continues as such, with Megatron attempting to impart information the spy has already collected, until the warlord's curious optics alight on him. Megatron is silent for a moment.

"--further orders?" Soundwave plays, using the vocalizer of a sincere Eradicon. Starscream has used the same phrase, but it would hardly reassure Megatron's leaving if he implemented a more sarcastic sample.

"I expect you'll do well as a unit," the mech remarks. "You might've carried it out, but if you haven't, consider bonding."

Silence greets the warlord, who doesn't seem surprised. Soundwave waits some nanokliks before dipping his helm. Megatron's optics wander, scanning the command center as if memorizing its layout, and eventually rest on the doorpad.

"Advance the cause in my stead. You know Starscream alone might reason out of self-interest. Dismissed."

"--well-wishing--," Soundwave answers. Starscream is volatile, but sometimes also smart to negotiate, which, in contrast to Megatron's appraisal of the concept, does not mean compromise. It is the Decepticon ideals which must stay intact, the cause; not the war. But Megatron is not telepathically inclined as his third-in-command is, has no way to know what Soundwave thinks. Their leader's department commences with little ceremony, leaving in his wake a new regime, where Starscream has the strategy and Soundwave the analysis: stronger than ever do the Decepticons rise.

\- - - - -

To say Starscream is thrilled--Soundwave having divulged the extent of his objective--is inaccurate, but neither does the seeker feel betrayed.

There was, _is_ , truth in the compassion and affection the spy shows; enough which, after the first two solar cycles, prompts Megatron's suggestion to come to fruition. Soundwave is rather content. He stands by the side of the most versatile weapon the Decepticons possess, the same mech proving worth all efforts, paying back ten-fold as his mate. The spy has no reason not to be attentive.

And Soundwave cannot say that he doesn't take pleasure in moments spent alone on the bridge with his mate. Starscream approaches, claws teasing the cricks from his spinal struts, chin dipping lovingly into the hollow of his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> *hand up if screamscream nd stalkerwave consume u life too* haha i'm a mess  
> you're welcome for not using the word "moist" bc i could have and i didn't  
> please review i love you all and you give me life, i'm going to give more fic real soon


End file.
